


The First Sunset

by FourCornersHolmes



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: "Uncle Jim", "Uncle Q", 00Q Reverse Bang, Alternate Universe - Sherlock (TV) Fusion, Cute Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Holmes Family, Just Married, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Big Happy Family, Post-Canon, Post-SPECTRE, Pre-James Bond/Q, Q is a Holmes, background Johnlock, technically they're all cousins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCornersHolmes/pseuds/FourCornersHolmes
Summary: It was like coming home after being away for too long. It always had been, and honestly, James Bond hoped that setting foot in the hallowed halls of MI6 would always feel like coming home. But to be fair, he wasn’t anticipating a warm welcome this time. Given the circumstances of his last departure, the people he had walked away from, the people he had alienated because he was distracted by a pretty face, he expected a bit of a hostile reception. There were new faces as he made his way to M’s office, some of the younger ones saw him and spent a few minutes staring after him, whispering to each other that the prodigal son of MI6, the legendary rogue James Bond, had come home again.





	The First Sunset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [procoffeinating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procoffeinating/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The First Sunset](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/450524) by procoffeinating. 



> I wrote this for the 00Q Reverse Big Bang for the lovely Procoffeinating, whose artwork I was lucky enough to get. I hope you enjoy this, my dear, I had so much fun with it!

It was like coming home after being away for too long. It always had been, and honestly, James Bond hoped that setting foot in the hallowed halls of MI6 would always feel like coming home. But to be fair, he wasn’t anticipating a warm welcome this time. Given the circumstances of his last departure, the people he had walked away from, the people he had alienated because he was distracted by a pretty face, he expected a bit of a hostile reception. There were new faces as he made his way to M’s office, some of the younger ones saw him and spent a few minutes staring after him, whispering to each other that the prodigal son of MI6, the legendary rogue James Bond, had come home again. There were no spiteful whispers, not yet. He just smiled and continued on his way to his original destination. Part of him wanted to visit Q-Branch before seeing M, but he had a schedule, he had an appointment. As he reached the lift-banks, he hesitated over the buttons. He wanted to see Q so badly he could taste it.

_No. No, you have obligations to M. You owe him an explanation for everything. You owe him a debrief._

But did he really? He had already compiled and submitted detailed reports, in triplicate by digital and traditional means of delivery. There wasn’t anything he needed to tell M that wasn’t in those reports, right? No, he needed to focus. He had to see M before he dared set foot in Q-Branch. Besides, he wasn’t certain he would even be welcome in the department, if the Quartermaster would see him at all.

 _You owe him an explanation for everything._ It wasn’t M he owed any explanation to, M would understand. Would chalk it up to Bond’s impulsive, nomadic nature.  It was Q he owed an explanation to, for so much.

 It had taken two years and several mishaps for him to realize that whatever he’d felt for Madeline Swann was nothing he deserved to stay for. She had fallen in love with the agent and out of love with the man, had sought to “fix” him and was disappointed when she got what she wanted, when he “changed”. Of course, the numerous attempts on his life hadn’t been in her favour, either. So, when he found himself stepping out of the lift in the subterranean levels dedicated to Q-Branch, R&D, and other key behind-the-scenes operations, he wasn’t terribly surprised. He didn’t remember pressing the buttons, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t. He sighed and retrieved his phone, a new one after the latest incident, and opened a text-string. Composing a new text, he fired it off to the recipient.

**Got a bit held up, will report in an hour. – 007**

**My apologies for wasting your time. – 007**

 

His phone buzzed with a reply, of course M hadn’t wasted any time responding. He read the response and smiled.

**No rush, Bond. I’ll be here when you’re done with your business in Q-Branch. – M**

M was smart, no doubt of that. Sometimes, Bond missed Mansfield, she had been more than a boss to him, she had been a friend and the closest thing he had to a mother-figure. But Mallory was a decent bloke and far more understanding than Bond thought he should be. Shaking his head, Bond badged himself into Q-Branch and stepped into the domain of a legitimate genius. Who was regularly underestimated and unappreciated. Bond was guilty of both, and ungrateful besides. He was distracted from feeling too sorry for himself, or for Q, by a cheerful hail from off to his right.

“Bond! Oi! Hey, you’re back!”  This was followed quickly by something that wasn’t quite a tackle but not quite a hug, either. It took Bond a minute to recognize the stocky blond who’d more or less assaulted him and he smirked.

“Well, well. Captain Watson, how are you, sir?”

“I’m alright. Been a crazy couple of years for us, but it’s quiet for now.” John Watson had obviously changed, but the important things about him had remained very much the same. Bond remembered a much, _much_ younger man, barely into his thirties, tanned from long service in the Middle East and rather cocky about the way of things and unafraid to take on any and all comers.

“It seems that is true for both of us.” Bond looked past Watson to…oh, there he was. Half-blocked from Bond’s line of sight by the slightly taller dark-haired gentleman standing next to him. Watson saw his focus shift and glanced over his shoulder to see what had his attention.

“You’re here for Q?”

“If he’ll see me. I’m not expecting a warm welcome, you know?”

“After the shite you pulled in 2015? You’re lucky he’s in a _good_ mood today.”  Watson just raised an eyebrow and Bond sighed. Of course Watson knew about that, and he had a pretty good idea how he’d found out about it, too.

“We’ll see how long that lasts, shall we?”

“Just be gentle with him, James. He really missed you, but he’s not going to be very pleased about this.”

“I’m not expecting him to be.”

“What about Madeline? Does she know you came home?”

“Madeline is no longer part of my life.” He said curtly. He’d be happy to fill Watson in on those details, but this was neither the time nor the place.

“Hmm. Sounds like you and me need to have a lads night soon.” Watson narrowed his eyes. “Seems we have the same problem.”

“Can’t leave you alone, can I? Always getting into trouble when my back is turned?”

“Stop disappearing and I’ll stop getting into trouble.” Oh, that cheeky grin. Well, that was a fair compromise.

“It’s a deal, then.”

“Good. Now, go on. You owe Q some one-on-one time. And please don’t lie to him?”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because it’s how you are.” Watson gave him a familiar look. “Be honest with him. Apologise for the way you walked out on him. And why.”

“A thousand apologies wouldn’t be nearly enough to make up for the wrongs I’ve done that boy.” Bond shook his head, knowing it would take a lot more than simply saying “I’m sorry” to put things right with Q.

“Start by saying “I’m sorry” and meaning it. I know you feel bad for what happened in 2015, just take your time to let him come to terms with you being back in his life.”

“How _much_ time?”

“As much as he needs.” Watson looked at the pair over by the work-table, “He’s a Holmes, you need to be empathetic and patient with him while he sorts things out for himself.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Bond nodded, recalling that bit of knowledge and trying to remember how he’d learned that. It wasn’t important, but it was vital information.

“007?” Oh, there it was. Bond and Watson both turned in tandem to face Q and his cousin.

“Hello, Q.” Bond folded his hands behind his back and gave a small smile. “You look well.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see M and took a detour.” Not quite a lie.

“You took a detour?”

“Yes, I did.” He stood still under scrutiny, letting Q look his fill and deduce all the facts and details he needed about Bond.

“Right.” After a thorough, silent inspection, which included Q walking a full circle around him and touching him, Q pulled away and turned his back on Bond. “My office, 007. We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.”

“We’ll see you later then, Q.” Watson had Sherlock Holmes in tow as they left the work-floor.

In the quiet that fell in the wake of the Baker Street duo’s departure, Bond looked at Q and headed for the Quartermaster’s office. Headquarters had been moved since his departure from MI6 two years ago, they were on Whitehall now in one of the many government agency buildings that lined the street from Whitehall Place to Thorney Street.

Q preceded him as he always did, and Bond closed the door behind him. What was going to be said in this office was not to be privy to anyone except the two people _in_ the office, M, and Bill Tanner. Once the door was closed, he stood quietly before the desk and waited for Q to look at him.

“Q?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m...sorry.” Might as well say it now.

“I said shut up. Don’t speak.” Q snapped, standing on the other side of the desk with both hands flat on the surface, head down. “I’m angry. I’m trying to decide just _how_ angry, and you are not helping.” Bond knew that repeating himself would do no good and sighed, settling in for what promised to be a very long, miserable wait. After several minutes of tense, awkward silence, Q lifted his head and looked at Bond.

“What are you doing here? Why did you come back? Why now?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Are you going to tell me the truth?”

“If you’ll let me.” He knew this was going to be hard on all of them. “I’ve been informed that I’m not allowed to lie to you.”

“Whoever told you that is a smart man.”

“Watson.”

“You’re friends with him, aren’t you?”

“Yes. But I haven’t seen him any more frequently in two years than I’ve seen anyone else I knew before I left.” He shuffled one foot. “There are several new faces in MI6 now, I didn’t recognise very many people on my way down here.”

“I’m sure they recognised _you_ , though. Hard not to, isn’t it?” Q huffed, “And why would the disgraced prodigal son of MI6 have any business to be here at all?”

“I came to speak to M.”

“You said that already. I am, clearly, not M. And if he’s going to be happy to see you, I may not be.”  Q finally looked at him and Bond realised, again, that he never should have left. Better start at the end, then, get it out of the way that he was no longer with Madeline and she would never have an influence over his life again.

“It’s...a bit of a long story, I’m afraid.”

“I have all the time in the world.” Q sat down behind his desk. “Start talking. When you’re done, I’ll decide if I believe you or not. If I forgive you.”

“Fair enough.” He took a deep breath. “I should tell you that I am no longer involved with Madeline Swann and will never be with her again. She is not part of my life and it was a blundering mistake to think she could be.”

“Could’ve told you _that_. Did.”

“And I didn’t listen.” Bond rubbed the underside of his wrist, touching one of many scars from his long service to the government. “I am so sorry, Q.”

“Finish talking and I’ll think about forgiving you.”

“All two years of it?”

“Every. Last. Second.”

“Very well.” Better get started, then. He had two years to make up for.

It was two hours before Bond finished telling Q everything about the two years he’d been gone, about the mishaps and close calls, the  realization that he didn’t love Madeline or even _like_ her and that she saw him as a project and not a person, making the decision to leave her and the fall-out from that decision. He left Q with a request to let him know when he wanted to talk to him again, he knew how to reach him and where to find him, and went to see M. That was a brief visit, and after being dismissed from MI6, he went home. Well, not home. He would have to look for a new place to live, and soon. He didn’t feel like slumming in a hotel or hostel for one night, but there was nowhere for him to go. He could stay with Moneypenny or Tanner, but he didn’t want to impose on them.

 

Walking the streets of  London, Bond had time to get the city back into his blood, back into his senses. He walked for what felt like hours, stopping to get food from a little corner chippy before continuing on his way again. It got dark soon enough and he knew he should find somewhere to stay for the night. Stopping on the footpath, he looked to see where he was. Somewhere in Marylebone, it looked like. Turning to his left, he looked up at the house before him. The black door adorned with gold numbers was familiar. He hadn’t come here very often, if at all, but he knew the place well enough. Could he stay here? Would he be welcome?

 _It’s Q’s family, not Q himself._ His inner voice offered. Well, that was true. And he’d never gotten on too poorly with Sherlock. He would never say they were friends, but he felt comfortable with the man. Deciding to risk it, hoping they were actually home, he knocked on the door. There were lights on upstairs, but he knew that counted for nothing. If some kind of case had come up, Sherlock would be on the streets doing what he did best. After a long enough pause he honestly thought there was no one home, the door opened for him. Sherlock’s landlady peeked out and saw him there. He wasn’t certain if she recognised him or not.

“Can I help you, dear?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs Hudson, I was wondering if John was home?” Better ask for Watson than Sherlock.

“He should be. Are you a friend of his, then?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Just a moment.” She closed the door a bit and hollered for Watson.

“Who is it, Mrs Hudson?” There he was.

“Nice fellow asking for you, dear.” Mrs Hudson just smiled benignly and beckoned to Bond, who stood a bit awkwardly on the pavement. When Watson saw him, the man’s eyes widened.

“James! What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to bother you, John.”

“You are not a bother! Come in, will you? Jesus, did you walk here?”

“Yes, actually. I’ve been out for hours.”

“Moron. Come inside.” Watson rolled his eyes and pulled Bond into the house. It was warm, cosy, and felt very home-like. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound very sure of that.”

“I stopped at a chip-shop for food.”

“Jesus, Bond.” Watson shook his head. Just then, the bell sounded. Mrs Hudson opened the door to a delivery driver from a nearby restaurant, Watson paid for the food and told the driver to keep the change for a tip. The smell of hot Indian food tickled Bond’s nose and his stomach growled a bit.

“Come on, you mad thing. Upstairs. There’s plenty to share, Sherlock won’t eat much and you need to make up for a few lost meals.” Watson was halfway upstairs by then, all Bond could do was follow. At the top, Watson shouldered the door open and went inside the flat. “Sherlock! Food, and company!”

“Who came by?”

“Bond. He’s been out for hours doing Christ knows what.”

“Oh! Hello, 007.” Sherlock appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room and offered Bond a smile. “You look terrible.”

“Sherlock, be nice.” Watson scolded. “James, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.” He toed off his shoes and took off his coat, setting them both aside properly.

“My cousin is very stubborn, 007, but he won’t hold a grudge for very long.” Sherlock had gone back to the kitchen table where some experiment or other was spread out.

“I suppose I should be grateful he was willing to hear me out. He could have thrown me out and told me to stay gone.”

“I said stubborn, not spiteful.” Sherlock corrected. Bond couldn’t help a smile as he sat down on the couch. There was a match on the telly for background, he remembered Watson being a fan of Chelsea.

“Who’s winning, then?” He asked casually.

“City, for the moment. Chelsea’s playing well, though.” Watson called from the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

“Whiskey or beer?”

“Whatever you have.” He didn’t care either way, he was a guest here. Bond wasn’t alone for very long, a soft patter of feet and a tug on his denims alerted him to company. Turning his head, he looked down a bit to make eye contact with a little girl who looked just enough like Watson to be his daughter. The little girl beamed up at him and stretched out tiny arms, that universal request/demand to be picked up and held.

“Well, who are you, young lady?” He smiled and reached for the child, who didn’t seem to be very afraid of strangers. “You’re a pretty thing.”

“Oh, for…Rosie! Don’t bother our guest!” Watson came out of the kitchen with a couple of plates and found Bond with his arms and lap occupied, “You don’t have to hold her, James.”

“Oh, she’s alright. She’s yours?”

“Yeah. I’ve got an agreement with her biological father to have her every other week, it works for us.”

“What’s her name?”

“That clingy little thing, who doesn’t seem to be afraid of you at all, is Rosamund Mary Catherine Watson. We all call her Rosie.” John smiled and set the plates down on the coffee table before going back to the kitchen for the drinks.

“She looks like you, are you sure she’s not yours?” Bond looked at the child in his arms, who had decided to entertain herself playing with the buttons of his shirt.

“Yeah. Had a paternity test run after Mary died, just for my sake.”

“And you kept her?”

“Well, we were the only family she’d ever known, I didn’t want to traumatize her like that by abandoning her to strangers.” John sounded…sad almost. Bond didn’t blame him. It was one of many things that had happened in the past two years that needed to be talked about. Not tonight, but some time. A bottle of beer was held out to him and he shifted his hold on Rosie to take it from John.

“Ta.”

“No problem.” John sat down next to him. “Any time you need a place to go, come here. We’ve got room.”

“Are you sure? I hate to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother, 007!” Sherlock yelled from the kitchen. Bond look at John and chuckled.

“Here, Rosie-girl. Sit right here so I can eat.” He shuffled Rosie to sit next to him instead of in his lap and collected his plate. Not that it made much of a difference, she snuck under his arm and curled up against him with her head on his chest, focused on the match. After a while, she made a grab for his fork and he looked at John, who just nodded.

“You want some?”

“Rosie, what do you say?”

“Please?” It was slurred toddler-speak, but the BSL sign was very clear.

“She likes Indian food?” Bond smiled and put a bit of his Indian on the fork after taking one bite, offering it to Rosie.

“Loves it. Sometimes it’s too spicy for her, but she’ll ask anyway.”

“Adventurous girl.” He took a sip of beer after getting his fork back, wondering why this was so comfortable, so…normal? Why was this kind of thing so normal? Not fifteen minutes ago, he’d been wandering London trying to figure out where to spend the night and here he was in 221B Baker Street watching football and eating Indian with John Watson’s two-year-old daughter in his lap sharing his food. This wasn’t his normal. Was it?

“So, how did the chat with Q go?” John asked carefully, “After we left?”

“Oh. Well, that…could have gone better. Could have gone far, far worse.” He shook his head, “I know I did wrong by him, I just don’t know if he’ll give me a chance to make it up to him.”

“Did you apologise to him?”

“Many times. He’s…he told me he needed some time to think about things.”

“Well, of course.” John looked towards the kitchen, “At least he didn’t try to beat the sense out of you.”

“He wanted to, I could tell he wanted to.”

“I certainly wanted to when Sherlock came back, and I did, too. Felt bad about that, but he forgave me. Always does, for some reason.”

“Of course I forgave you! I always will!” Sherlock appeared in the doorway, plate in hand, “I’m the one who keeps botching things up, you keep coming back to me and forgiving _me_.”

“We’re only human, Sherlock.”

“Even you?”

“Even you.” There was something in those words, something important. Bond just observed, intrigued. Sherlock came over to the couch and did something unusual but not completely unexpected, kissing John. It was a show of affection a long time in coming and still getting settled. With a careful stroke of fingers against John’s hair, Sherlock went back into the kitchen like nothing had happened.

“You lucky bastard.” He muttered, shaking his head a bit. “Always did have all the luck, didn’t you?”

“Don’t worry, James, your chance is coming. I promise.” John just smiled at him.

The rest of the evening was passed watching telly, eating Indian, playing with Rosie, and actually going out again. It was after bedtime, which Rosie had _insisted_ Bond take over tonight, around nine or ten when the bell sounded. Mrs Hudson answered the door and was shouting for Sherlock and John in no time.

“It’s Lestrade, boys!”

“See him up, Mrs Hudson! Thank you!” Sherlock called back. A minute later, their Scotland Yard handler and resource appeared at the top of the stairs, obviously in a hurry.

“Sherlock!”

“What is it?”

“A 6, maybe a 7? Will you please come?”

“Where?”

“Brixton.”

“Right behind. Send me the details.” Sherlock was already on his feet and collecting his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“Case on! John, come on!”

“Yeah, hang on.” John rolled his eyes and shoved to his feet, shaking his head, “Impatient berk. The body’s not going to walk away, you know?”

“Bodies.”

“Ooh! More than one victim?” Sherlock’s eyes lit up and Bond chuckled.

“Three that we found.” Lestrade shrugged.

“Excellent! It’s Christmas!”

“Three people are dead, possibly violently, and you’re excited.” Bond eyed up his host, “Need another set of eyes?”

“Mm. I don’t know. Do you want to come?” Sherlock eyed him up, “You seem to be quite good at the _other_ end of the business.”

“I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Come on, then! John, hurry up!”

“Wait, um, who’s…” Lestrade looked down the stairs after them, confused.

“Greg Lestrade, James Bond. He’s staying with us for a few days.”

“Oh. Well. Okay, then?”

“Text me the address, Lestrade!” Sherlock called as he reached the street. Bond just nodded at the baffled DI and followed Sherlock before he got left behind. A taxi waited at the kerb, Sherlock stood by the open door.

“Come on, come on, we’ve got work to do!”

“For the last time, Sherlock, three dead bodies aren’t going to walk away before you get there. And I doubt Forensics had done too much damage.” John scolded as they got into the cab, “Calm down, will you?”

“Is he always like this?”

“When there’s a case on? Yes. Get used to it.” John rolled his eyes.

“Will Rosie be alright by herself?”

“She’s asleep by now and Mrs Hudson will check on her if necessary.”

“That’s nice of her to look after Rosie while you’re gone.”

“She loves it. She’s always been very fond of Rosie, and honestly, I think it’s the closest she’ll ever get to having her own grandchild, so she doesn’t mind at all.”

The case was simple but just complicated enough to intrigue Sherlock and distract Bond. They were out until the wee hours of morning, the sun was actually coming up as they returned to Baker Street, but when Bond slept, it was a content, restful slumber.

 

A routine was established and maintained for almost a week before Bond returned to MI6 to see Q. He had been back several times prior, but never visited the Quartermaster. This time, when he entered Q-Branch, he looked more like his old self. He felt more like his old self, too, he was confident and just a bit cocky. Spending time at Baker Street had been good for him, a godsend. He passed through Q-Branch, nodding to those he recognised. R, god bless her, didn’t look that surprised to see him. But then again, it took a lot more than him causing waves in the no-wake zone to ruffle the Deputy Quartermaster’s feathers properly.

“Good morning, 007.”

“Good morning, R. How is he this morning?”

“Not too likely to bite anyone’s head off, but that could change. So just tread lightly.” R shrugged and looked at the rosters in her hand, focus split between talking to Bond and monitoring the agents in the field at the moment. Their locations were displayed on a massive monitor that was nearly the size of the wall as a series of GPS dots, a click of a keyboard could pull up a series of CCTV cameras on location and show what and where the agent in question was at any given moment.

“Is everyone staying out of trouble this morning?”

“That depends on which agent you’re talking about.” R’s eyes narrowed, “We have a few rogues in the batch.”

“I was one of them, wasn’t I?”

“You _are_ one of them, what’s this “I was” business?” R gave him a steady look. “You’re not retiring on us, are you?”

“It has crossed my mind that I’m a bit old and worn out to be traipsing across the globe after criminal networks every other week and getting myself shot at in the name of Queen and Country.”

“But you love it anyway.”

“I may have found a decent alternative.”

“A decent alternative? My god, is the mighty James Bond settling down?”

“Taking rooms at 221B Baker Street is far from settling down. I may have signed on for a bit more excitement than is strictly reasonable.”

“Oh, is _that_ where you are staying these days?” R’s eyes lit up, “So, you’re living with Q’s cousin and his…whatever they are? What are they?”

“I’ve not a clue and I’ve been there a week. Might take years to work that bit out.” He shrugged. “Don’t really care either way, just as long as Sherlock’s not blowing up the kitchen every other day.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad, is it?”

“Puts Alec’s reputation to shame.” He spotted the proper GPS marker and smirked, “Don’t tell him I said that, you know he hates competition.”

“Who hates competition?” And there was Q. “Oh, good morning, 007. There you are.”

“Good luck, Bond.” R murmured, patting him on the arm as she took her leave with a nod to her boss. Bond stayed where he was, watching the screen of yellow dots to keep from looking at the Quartermaster.

“I was wondering when you would surface.” Q’s tone was carefully neutral. “Where have you been hiding?”

“I doubt you’re unaware of my current place of residence, Q. And I haven’t been hiding, my name has been in the papers no fewer three times just this last week.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Q’s mouth twitched and Bond raised an eyebrow. Was that a smile he saw?

“Oh, just come out with it, Q. Speak your bloody mind.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“You’re living with my cousin?”

“I’m living in their basement.”

“But you’re living in that house?”

“Yes. But you knew that.”

“James Bond has gone from international espionage to domestic crime-solving. What a change of routine.”

“Not quite.” He smiled, “It’s actually quite similar. Granted I’m not getting shot at and kidnapped quite as often, but the work is quite rewarding.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as any sort of detective, but I suppose that would be not quite true.” Q’s eyes were smiling even if his expression remained neutral. A smile was a welcome expression, it meant he wasn’t quite in as much trouble now as he had been a week ago.

“Am I still in trouble, Q?”

“Yes, but not as much trouble.”

“Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?”

“No.”

“It was worth it to ask, wasn’t it?” He sighed, of course he was still on the Naughty List. “Q, it’s been a week.”

“And you were gone for two years. Don’t you dare think you can just walk back into my life and flash me that charming smile and think I’ll be head over heels to see you again.”

“I am sorry, Q.”

“Is Swann truly out of your life?”

“There’s a small grave-site in New Mexico you’re welcome to exhume if you don’t believe me.” He said quietly. “I even marked it.”

“You…” Q’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, Bond.”

“I said she wasn’t part of my life anymore, and she’s not. She pulled a gun on me, you didn’t think I was going to let her get away with that?”

“Was it your gun?”

“Yes.”

“You got it back?”

“Yes.”

“I would say I’m sorry, but that would be lying.” Q’s voice was quiet. “And saying I’m glad the bitch is dead would be heartless.”

“But true.”

“Very true. I never liked her.”

“Speak your mind, Q?”

“Oh, please, you knew I didn’t like her. None of us really did.”

“Thought I was cracked for leaving with her?”

“Suicidal was a word that passed through my head more than once.” Q shrugged, not bothering to hide his smile any more.

“Well, I’m alive. She’s not. And I came home.” Bond sighed and looked at the Quartermaster, “Can I come home, Q? Please?”

“Not yet, 007.”

“When?”

“When I say you can.”

“That’s…fair. More than I deserve.”

“Just stay out of trouble, will you? Don’t let my cousin get you arrested?”

“I make no promises.” He folded his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, eyeing the map of dots again. “Oh. Q?”

“Hmm?”

“I think we have a problem.”

“Who is…oh no.” Q’s focus shifted completely. “Damn it! Why does this happen every time! I thought you were bad, but no!”

“Give him five minutes and he’ll blow something up out of sheer spite.”

“Damn it, 006!” Q growled, his fingers flying across the tablet in one hand, brushing the surface of his earpiece. R, seeing the ramp-up, brought Bond an earpiece so he could listen in.

“006, this is Home. Report status!”

_“Oh, hello, Q! Checking in on me, are you?”_

“Damn it, 006, what are you doing?”

_“Just doing what I do best, my love! Don’t worry about me, I have this all in hand!”_

“No you don’t! Get out of there before you’re in over your bloody head and six feet underground in an unmarked grave!”

“I thought I was bad about it.” Bond muttered.

“Not now, Bond.” Q hissed. “Either help me get him out of this mess or keep your mouth shut.”

“Yes, sir.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to get Alec Trevelyan out of a tight spot, and it was very unlikely to be the last.

 

After getting 006 out of a spot of trouble, Bond found his place in Q-Branch monitoring the field-agents. He took the occasional assignment that took him out of London for a while, anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, but maintained regular contact with MI6 and Baker Street while he was out of the country. And he noticed that the jobs he did take were simple, nine times of ten there was very little violence exercised. It was something to keep him busy, his skills sharp, while he contemplated retirement from field-duty to settle into a posting in Q-Branch as a supervisor and a partner at the Baker Street Detective Agency.

Being in close proximity to Q made Bond realize that leaving MI6, or trying to, had been the worst possible thing. It was something that occurred to him more than once, usually in moments of reflection. The quiet moments were plentiful, moments spent in Q’s office or even in _his_ office, working side-by-side and working off of each other and around each other. There were moments of excitement, moments of tension, concern, but communication was constant and clear.

The day he finalized his retirement from MI6, in his capacity as a field-agent, he arrived in M’s office in a rather good mood.

“Good morning, 007. Oh, wait. I can’t call you that anymore, can I?” Gareth Mallory looked at him and smiled, “Mr Bond?”

“Yes, thank you.” He shrugged, unable to help a sly smile, “Though I will answer to my old number if it slips out in conversation.”

 “So, this is it, then?”

“For field-work, it is. I’m not going anywhere, Q needs someone who knows how agents behave on missions.” He stood easy by the desk, “And I have my work with Baker Street.”

“Yes, and you’re rather good at that, aren’t you?” M chuckled.

 “You can thank John Watson for putting the idea in my head.”

“I think I can thank John Watson for more than just _that_ , Bond. He’s been a friend to you nearly as long as you’ve been with MI6, hasn’t he?”

“We have known each other for a long time. I never expected to take advantage of his friendship and hospitality as I did, but he didn’t let me do otherwise.”

“You needed somewhere to go when you returned to London, and he opened his home to you. If only we all had a friend like John Watson.” M gave him one of the files from his desk. “Good luck, Bond.”

“Thank you, sir.” He took the file and opened it, looking at it.

 “Everything is here?”

“Everything.” M got up, holding one hand out to him. “Down to Q-Branch next, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I won’t keep you, then.” M smiled as they shook hands. “See you around, Bond.”

“M.” Bond let M walk him to the door of his office and left on his own. Moneypenny just gave him a knowing smile as he passed by the desk.

“Hey, Bond, forgetting something?” She asked smugly. He just looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.

“Not that I’m aware of, Eve?”

“This?” She dangled a small gift bag like a prize. It was, to be honest.

“Oh, you…”

“Of course! You know I’ve always got your six, Bond, even if I end up shooting it on occasion.” She winked and held the bag out to him, “You’ve got this, 007. Go get your boy.”

“Thank you, Eve.”

“And if you ever hurt him again, I will have your balls for dice.” She let him take the bag, but he knew she wasn’t half-kidding about that threat. He just smiled and peeked into the bag. The small black box inside was promising. He shook the box out of the bag and weighed it in his hand, opening it to look at the contents.

“Perfect. Thank you, Eve.” ~~~~

“He’s a special man, he deserves something a bit out of the usual.”

“Extraordinary.” Bond closed the box and tucked it into his pocket folding the bag into the file for later. “You’re reliable, you know that?”

“Someone has to be. Go get him, Bond. Take the risk.” Eve smiled and kissed him on the cheek as she gave him a push, hustling him out the door to get him moving. Bond chuckled and looked at the file in his hands. This presented the next stage of his life, and a relationship he hadn’t appreciated until almost too late. The box was a question he should have asked years ago, he just hoped Q would say yes. Or at least have a very good reason to turn him down. And he knew better than to ask in public. Getting to Q-Branch didn’t take long, he didn’t encounter any hold-ups, and when he stepped onto the work-floor, it was busy but quiet. Good. He saw a few 00s hanging around, chatting with the quartermasters about the latest tech coming out of the division. No sign of Q, though. Hmm.

“Bond.” R slid up alongside him, “Thought you weren’t in today.”

“No, I had to see M. Is Q around?”

“Should be in his office.” R pointed the way, the door was partially closed. He wanted privacy but was open to interruptions if it was worth his time. Bond was sure this would be worth the Quartermaster’s time. Knocking on the door got no response, so he pushed it open and peeked in. Not in at the moment, but he was around. Good. Bond set the file on Q’s desk, putting the box in the bag and the bag on top of the file.

Leaving Q’s office the way he’d found it, aside from the offering he’d left on the desk, he stopped by his own office to see if anything needed doing. Status reports on the operations of Q-Branch. Other paperwork that was necessary to his position. A few debriefs that needed to be filed and sent to M, one of them was Alec’s. He knew it was Alec’s because Q had flagged it “urgent”, as usual. He pulled Alec’s file across his desk.

“I’ve been in this job six months, please let this be a normal debrief.” He and Q had a saying about Alec’s debriefs: “This isn’t a debrief, it’s a damage report.”

He hated reporting, it made him miss field-work; but there was something soothing about the monotony, the repetitive nature of writing and filing reports as they were necessary. It was handling reports like Alec’s debriefs that made him question his life choices. Before he even dared open that file, Bond retrieved a rocks glass and bottle of whiskey from the cabinet behind his desk and a pack of cigarettes and lighter from the middle drawer of his desk. He was going to need both long before he finished reading the record of Alec’s latest mishaps. But as he opened the file, once he had a glass of whiskey and a cigarette in hand, all thoughts of his old partner’s shenanigans was forgotten. Sitting on the face-page, innocuous and yet somehow incongruous, was a small white envelope.

“Hmm. What’s this then?” He picked up the envelope and noticed the bulk of it. There was something inside, small but weighty. On the outside, in Q’s familiar scrawl, were the words “Open Me First”. Curious, and willing to wait a bit before diving into Alec’s reports, Bond carefully opened the envelope and slid out the contents. A single sheet of print-paper, standard size, better quality than they used around MI6, folded into fourths and sealed into the envelope. It was what the paper contained that interested him. A handwritten note, and a ring. In his research for the perfect ring to give Q, Bond had come upon this very ring: black ceramic with a carbon-fibre insert. Subtle, understated, and sleek. He smiled and removed the ring very carefully, turning it over in his hand. There was something engraved on the inside of the band, and he looked more closely. Three words, familiar words: _No Exploding Pen_. Something from their very first conversation, their first encounter. Bond chuckled and read the letter Q had written to him after he put the ring on. The clever little bastard had gotten his size, the ring fit perfectly. Spying on his browsing history? Not that he was surprised at all. It was just the sort of thing Q would do. That didn’t mean he couldn’t surprise his Quartermaster, of course. He folded the letter into an inner pocket and focused on the damage report in front of him.

 

Q returned to his office after stepping out for lunch with his cousins, something he did once a month, and knew before he saw his desk that Bond had been in. Shaking his head, he stepped out for a moment and went to Bond’s office. He wouldn’t bother him, of course, he just wanted a visual. Peeking in through the window, he caught sight of Bond at his desk, head down, focused on whatever he was doing at that moment. It looked like he was on 006’s file, judging by the rocks glass and bottle sitting on the desk next to a small glass ashtray and the cigarette in Bond’s hand. From here, Q saw a glimpse of black on Bond’s left hand and felt a swell of heat in his chest. He’d taken it. He’d ... said yes. Not out loud, but if he was wearing the ring, that was good, right? That meant he’d said yes?

“About time you showed up.” R was behind him. “Bond was asking for you. I think he left you something.”

“I know he did. You didn’t open it did you?”

“No! Of course, I didn’t!” She looked insulted that he’d even consider her capable of something so intrusive. Q just raised an eyebrow at her. He knew R better than that.

“R.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it!” She blushed, “It’s quite lovely, you had better fucking say yes to him!”

“Who said I had any intention of saying _no_?” he just stepped past his aide and thought of something. “Oh, R?”

“Yes, sir?”

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“Does what bother me?”

“That Bond took your place as Deputy Quartermaster six months ago.”

“Oh, gosh! No! Absolutely not! He’s ... well, he’s good at what he does.” She shrugged, “I mean, he’s not here all the time, but that’s okay. Things get done efficiently and the miscommunications between Q-Branch and the 00 Division have dropped dramatically since he came in. I thought he’d retire and disappear or something, but he stuck around.”

“MI6 is in his blood. His home. My cousin may have given him work to occupy his free hours, but he will always have his place here.” Q returned to his office and picked up the bag sitting on his desk. “You didn’t happen to look at the file, did you?”

“That, I did not read. No. I just...looked in the box.”

“Fine. That will be all, R.” He smiled at his aide and waited until she left to sit down. Once his door had been closed, R was careful to close it behind her as she left, Q sat down and took the small black box out of the bag. Inside was a ring, simple, unadorned, made of...tungsten. A brushed-finish ring with a centre groove and bevelled edges. There was an engraving on the inside of the band that read “A Trigger Pulled”. He’d seen it in Bond’s computer search-histories but hadn’t really thought much of it, it was one of several such entries. Knowing what the ring was for, his heart skipped a bit. Damn clever agent. Sneaky, too. The ring, of course, fit, he had no qualms about putting it on. It wouldn’t interfere with his work and he could wear it at all times.

With a cup of tea someone had brought him, he decided to open the file Bond had left for him. He had an idea of what it might be, but he wanted to be absolutely certain. There was nothing telling on the face-sheet, it was agency standard with the name, birthdate, registration number, agent identification, and a head-shot photograph. He had seen this file many, many times before, he had memorized the data within for his sake and the agent’s. He smiled at the familiar face staring at him from the photograph. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, but he saw the tilt of a familiar smirk on James Bond’s lips. Shaking his head, Q turned to the next page. New papers had been added, recently, and he was curious to see for himself. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the headers: “Petition For Retirement With Amendment”.

“You son of a bitch, you did it.” He sighed, “God bless you.” That explained a bit about the time Bond was spending in Q-Branch. Bond hadn’t been out of the country on assignment for MI6 in almost four months but had travelled a few times on behalf of his cousin’s agency. It was interesting to think that solving crime was a family business, but the work suited his restless agent. Sometimes Bond would travel for training purposes, assisting new trainees on field-assignments and testing their methods, or for testing new equipment coming out of Q-Branch, but he was never gone more than two weeks for that work. So, it looked like James Bond had retired from field-service with Military Intelligence Section Six. He would stay on as Deputy Quartermaster in Q-Branch, assist with training new agents, and sit on the committee to name new Double-Oh agents to their numbers.  He reserved the right to leave the 007 designation vacant, in effect retiring his own service-number. Q wouldn’t be surprised if he did that, but he didn’t think Bond was that attached to his service-number to take the chance of being the next 007 from some hopeful rookie. There were a few numbers that had been retired over the years, but not many. Only the future would tell.

 

It was nearly two hours later before anyone bothered to open his door. Only one person never bothered to knock, never really had, and when the door creaked open, Q kept his head down.

“You can come in, 007.”

“You know, you don’t have to call me that anymore.”

“I can if I want to, and just you try and stop me.” He raised his gaze just enough to see the man standing in the door of his office. “What can I do for you, then?”

“I thought I’d better make sure you weren’t drowning in paperwork or contemplating the murder of several lackeys.”

“I’m not drowning yet, but contemplating murder has unfortunately been a regularity.” He shrugged and glanced subtly at the ring on Bond’s left hand. He didn’t say anything about it, knowing he didn’t have to. The fact that he wore it at all was all the proof Q needed that he’d done the right thing taking a risk like that. He got the same subtle study he gave Bond, saw the small tells in his body language and expression that told anyone who could read him that he was pleased. Not smug, just...genuinely pleased. So little gave him any reason to _be_ happy anymore, Q was content to give him something.

It had taken two months to forgive Bond for turning his back on everything he had worked for and believed in because of a pretty façade.  The idea that Bond had not only walked away from Madeline Swann but had taken steps to ensure she would never cause them trouble ever again made him smile. It was just a reminder that you could never underestimate James Bond, it usually didn’t end well on your behalf if you meant him harm. Swann had tried to change him, and when that wasn’t enough and he didn’t turn out the way she’d wanted him to, she had resorted to sabotaging him and trying to kill him. But killing a Double-Oh agent, while not impossible, was rather difficult. Especially someone like Bond, who had more than one brush with death at the hands of someone he had loved or considered a friend.

“She’s dead, Q. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“Did I say anything?”

“No, but you didn’t have to. I know your tells.” Bond leaned against his desk, smiling in that way of his. “I would have walked away from this life for Vesper Lynd, I’d even walk away from this life if _you_ asked me to, but I know that walking away from it because Madeline Swann said it was right to turn my back on the life that had shaped me ... that was wrong.”

“You did walk away from it, and I didn’t have to ask.” Q smiled at his deputy, “You walked away from the dangerous bits of it on your own, I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“You had everything to do with it. Don’t be so modest.” Bond rolled his eyes. Q snickered.

“You obviously don’t know my family very well if you think I’m at all modest.” He leaned back in his chair. To be fair, he didn’t show off quite as much as his cousins. At least, not as much as Sherlock did. He had gotten slightly better about that since he had started living with John Watson, but he was still a poncy show-off.

“You’re better about it than your cousins.”

“So I’ve been told.” He studied his deputy, “So, you’re alright taking orders from me?”

“In our professional life, absolutely.”

“What about our personal life?”

“Might have to work on that a bit.” That got him a rather amused expression. “Just, do try to leave work where it belongs?”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” He rolled his eyes. Leaving work at work was a bygone conclusion in their household. He had been living with Bond at Baker Street for two months, a decision made on his behalf when his last lease ran out and his landlord gave him an ultimatum. It was an arrangement that worked for them. He was able to take the Tube to MI6 every day or drove in with Bond, he got along with his housemates, his immediate neighbours didn’t know exactly what it was he or Bond did, and Mrs Hudson thought he was adorable. She kept him supplied with enough biscuits and tea for a small army, that army usually ended up being his staff when he brought the spoils to work in order to share the wealth. Trevelyan, Tanner, Moneypenny, and M were regular callers at the house, she treated them like the family they were. The times she had scolded Trevelyan and Sherlock for almost blowing the house up or setting something on fire in the kitchen of B was too many to count and he always knew when their landlady had scolded his cousin or Bond’s old partner. They both looked like kicked puppies.

“Oh. So, which of us will be changing our name?”

“Hmm?” Bond looked up at the question. “What’s that, Q?”

“I was just wondering which one of us will be changing our last name. After we...well, after we get married properly.”

“Oh. Well, that’s...I’m not sure, actually. It doesn’t make a difference to me, knowing you’re my husband is all I need to know.” Bond studied the ring Q had given him curiously, “Whether you want to carry the Bond name or not is not a deal-breaker. You can keep your surname if you’d like.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll give up my name if you ask me to.”

“But that means giving up James Bond.” Q frowned, “I won’t ask you to do that, I won’t. I can’t.”

“Hm. Bond-Holmes?”

“I’m...actually on Vivian’s side of the family, not Siger’s.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re a Vernet, aren’t you?” Bond’s smile softened.

“Bond-Vernet has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“It sounds so sophisticated.”

“You’re marrying old-world aristocracy, Highlander.” He teased.

“Highlander! I do beg your pardon!” Oh, the expression on Bond’s face was priceless.

“You’re excused.”

“Q, you’re a menace.” Bond laughed, shaking his head as he leaned across the desk. “Unfortunately for the hopeful singles of London, _you_ are not available.”

“And neither are you. I happen to be terribly jealous, Bond.” He dropped his voice a bit and tilted his head, “No more flirting with the next gorgeous woman you see. Or handsome bloke, for that matter.”

“Am I allowed to smile at them and buy them a drink?”

“You may not bring them home or go home to theirs.”

“Fair compromise, Q.” Bond smiled, a curve of his lips that showed just a flash of teeth and personality that had brought many women (and a few men, as it happened) to his bed. Q stopped Bond when they were a breath apart, one hand on the other man’s chest.

“No, Bond. Not here.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“We’ll kiss on the street if you’d like, but so help me if we kiss in my bloody office.” He touched the material of Bond’s tie, running it between two fingers.

“What’s a bit of adventure, Q?”

“Because if you do that in this office, I can’t take any responsibility for my actions, or yours, and the eyeful any of our unsuspecting underlings or co-workers may or may not walk in on.”

“Door’s locked.” Bond’s voice was mellow and smooth, “Only people likely to walk in on us right now are Moneypenny, R, Tanner, or M. Or maybe your cousins. But that’s rather unlikely.”

“You’re a bastard, James Bond.”

“Mm. James Bond-Vernet, thank you, sir.”

“God, I love that.”

“Love what?”

“When you call me “sir”.” He hoped to Christ Bond had locked his door as the man got busy distracting him. “Makes me feel important.”

“Oh, you’re very important. You’re a stellar Quartermaster, and MI6 is better for having you.”

“What about...what about you, then, Mr Bond-Vernet?”

“Priceless to me. Beyond measure of wealth. Dearest of treasures.”

“You flatter.”

“I speak only the truth. And more the fool I for not seeing more clearly ~~the~~ sooner.”

“Better late than never at all.” He noticed that Bond didn’t make any move to actually kiss him, content to touch, stroke, nuzzle, but no kissing. He made a small sound of discontent but did not pull away.

“What’s that for, dear?”

“What are you _waiting_ for?”

“Well, it’s only proper to ask, isn’t it?”

“Ask?”

“May I kiss my fiancé?”

“Oh, god. Yes. Please, yes.”

“Thank you.” Bond smiled and kissed him properly. It was soft and a little hesitant at first, not that Bond was a stranger to kissing, but it was testing the waters. They had kissed many, many times in the past, especially in the months since Bond had come back into his life and put things right between them, but this was different.

“Christ, you’re good at that.”

“Of course I am.” Bond’s smile was infectious.

“Who the hell taught you how to kiss like _that_ , 007?”

“Mm, can’t call me that anymore.”

“Try and stop me. What am I supposed to call you?”

“Just call me...K.”

“I’ll call you 007 until further notice, I think.” Q just rolled his eyes and tugged on his deputy’s collar. “Now, stop avoiding the question.”

“What question is that, dear?”

“Who taught you how to kiss like that?”

“Mm. Who do you think?”

“None of your past conquests. Someone you knew before.”

“Use that brain of yours, Q. You know who it is.”

“Watson?”

“And we have a winner.”

“Remind me to thank him, will you?”

“Happy to. Now, be quiet.”

“Or what? You’ll make me?”

“No, be quiet or I’ll make you scream so loud they’ll hear you two floors up.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try and stop me.” Bond’s smile was dangerous and Q knew he’d make good on that threat if he pushed the right buttons. He wasn’t going to force the issue, as fun as that would be to see if Bond could deliver. Instead of pressing the issue, he let Bond take another kiss. They were only parted by a brisk knock on the door and he groaned. Whoever that was, they’d better have a good fucking reason for knocking. Another knock sounded, more urgent, and the door rattled.

“Ugh.” He pushed Bond away. “What could they possibly want?”

“Better see, hmm?” Bond smiled and straightened his tie and shirt as he went to unlock the door, opening it to a rather frantic R. “Ah, hello, Ramona. Everything alright?”

“It’s 004! She’s in trouble!”

“What happened?” Q was already on his feet, reaching for his discarded ear-piece. Bond was slyly inserting his own, all business now that one of their own was in trouble. Q knew his fiancé was fond of the agent in question, so it would be full steam ahead to get her to safety. Alive, if possible. R filled them in on the situation as they returned to the work-floor, and as Bond took the lead, coaching 004 through the situation, Q just stood by and observed. This was the man he had agreed to marry, the contrast was striking and...well, almost heartbreaking. But it was comforting to know that Bond could be soft and sentimental when called for and businesslike and gruff just as quickly. It was the mark of a good leader, Q thought.

 

It was several hours later that Bond called for a stop to proceedings. By now, 004 was in the air and on her way home from her last assignment. She was alive, shaken by the turn of events, and a thorough search for leaks and moles would be executed as soon as possible. Q was considering asking his cousins to take the case, an outsider perspective might be useful. He had no concept of time anymore, the efforts to extract 004 alive had taken every ounce of concentration and manpower, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept more than an hour. So when the doors opened and his cousin appeared, looking as haggard as the rest of them, Q was a little more alert.

“Mycroft.”

“Q. 007.” Mycroft Holmes gave them a nod, looked down for a moment. “I thought I had better inform you that 004 has been collected at the airport and transported to Medical.”

“But we just...” He looked at Bond and hesitated. Hadn’t they just gotten her on a plane home to London?

“That was yesterday, cousin. You have truly lost track of time.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“If she’s home, _we_ can go home.” Bond reached over and took Q’s hand in his. “Once we’ve gotten preliminary reports from Medical.”

“R will handle the rest of this case. Once you have heard from Medical, go home. You’ve earned a break.” Mycroft shook his head. “If the past four days have been hard on my team, I can’t imagine how bad it’s been for yours.”

“Four _days_?”

“Yes, it has been four days. It doesn’t feel like it, does it?”

“No!”

“Go. Home. Q. I’ve fielded numerous phone calls from both John Watson and Mrs Hudson asking after both of you.”

“I can only imagine.” Bond shook his head. Q knew it was probably better for them to leave once they’d heard from Medical, they couldn’t do any more good by staying. Four days, Christ it didn’t feel like it.

“Oh, this came by way of my desk for you, K.  I thought I had better see it to you sooner rather than later.” Mycroft distracted them and held something out to Bond, who took an unmarked file from him.

“Thank you, Mycroft.” He didn’t even look at it, but there were other things to worry about. And whatever Bond had asked Mycroft for was none of Q’s business until he made it his business.

 

An hour later, he left MI6 with Bond. They had seen 004, assessed her soundness, and left her to the kind mercies of Medical. As they drove home, a sombre quiet settled between them. Q finally had to ask the question, it had been on his mind for a while.

“007?”

“Hmm?”

“Wh-what’s the file my cousin gave you? It seemed rather important, but you didn’t seem much bothered by it.”

“Oh, that’s...it’s something for the both of us. You can look at it if you’d like.” Bond looked over at him. He picked up the file and opened it to see what was inside. Official-looking papers, everything from residency agreements and letters from Mrs Hudson properly signed and addressed, to passports, birth certificates, driving licences, and bank statements. He knew the significance of these particular papers and looked at Bond again.

“You’re serious?”

“I didn’t give you that ring because it was pretty, this is no whim.”

“I…don’t suppose we can file notice today, could we?”

“Well, it’s barely noon. We might be able to. And as we’ve nothing else on until further notice, we can wait if we must.”

“Thank you.” He set the file in his lap and took Bond’s hand.

 

Instead of going home to Baker Street, they went to Westminster Town Hall to file notice with the Registrar. They had to turn around in order to make the detour, but neither of them cared. Bond found parking nearby and they went into the building together. Finding the Register office didn’t take very long and they spoke to the appropriate parties about their business. Forms were filled out and fees were paid and all of the proper paperwork was organized and filed away.

“See you boys in a month!” The friendly receptionist called cheerfully as they took leave. “Get some rest, why don’t you? You both look half-dead for want of sleep.”

“Yes’m.” Bond gave the woman a pleasant, slightly weary smile as he put one hand on Q’s back in a tender, possessive gesture. That was a very public display of affection. But no one here knew what they did, who they were. That was fine. And really, Q didn’t mind.

 

Returning to the Aston Martin that Q had so lovingly and painstakingly rebuilt for Bond, they finally went home. It was unspoken between them that they would keep their wedding very small. Just a civil ceremony at the Register Office would do for them. Two witnesses, maybe two or three guests, nothing flashy. Well, more than three guests. He could think of a few of their cohorts who would bury them alive if they got left out.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Just thinking of people we should invite.”

“Not very many, is it?”

“John, Sherlock, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, _his_ husband. M, Tanner, Moneypenny, and 006.” He looked out the windscreen. “We absolutely cannot forget them.”

“John and Sherlock will most likely be our witnesses.”

“Unless Eve puts her foot down.”

“She probably will.” Bond chuckled, “It’s us, Q, we’re getting married.” He did have a point.

 

When they got back to Baker Street, it was to find dinner had been delivered and a very affectionate, clingy Rosie Watson waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Q smiled as, at the sound of Rosie’s squealing, Bond switched modes one more time. There was nothing quite like watching a hardened killer turn into a complete softie at the sight of a child. Or, in this case, the sound a child’s voice. Q followed his fiancé up the stairs, a few steps behind so Rosie would see Bond first.

“Fee Fi Fo Fum! I’m the Giant, here I come!” Bond made a show of stomping on the stairs, growling and making a general racket.

“Noo!” Rosie squealed as Bond cleared the landing, “Don’t eat me! Don’t eat me!”

“Run, little girl, run! The Giant is hungry tonight!”

“Eek! Don’t eat me!” She bolted for the safety of the flat, shrieking when Bond lunged and caught her up in his arms.  He tossed her up and caught her again, holding her tight as he pretended to eat her. She loved this little game of theirs, and so did Bond.

“You both look like Hell.” John took their coats while Sherlock collected work-bags. “How’s 004 holding up?”

“She’ll be out of Medical in a week, maybe two.”

“It took you four days to get her home, I can’t imagine she’ll be out sooner than two weeks.” Sherlock shook his head, “Sit down. Eat. Then go to bed. Sleep for as many hours as you can muster.”

“I make no promises.” He sat down on the couch, joined shortly by Bond and Rosie. Rosie wanted a hug from “Uncle Q”, so he happily obliged his toddler cousin. They were cousins, she called him Uncle Q and no one had the heart to correct her. And no one else really seemed to have a problem with it. Right now, he needed this kind of distraction, this kind of…intimacy? Was that the right word for it? Rosie was fascinated by their rings and declared them “Pretty rings” when they explained what they were to her. Of course, slurred toddler-speak butchered the pronunciation of nearly everything she tried to say, but her efforts were worthy of praise.

“It is a pretty ring, isn’t it, Rosie? Uncle Jim gave it to me, did you know that?” He looked slyly at Bond, who had been “Uncle Jim” to Rosie since the first night he’d stayed in Baker Street all those months ago.  Rosie was absolutely delighted and held Q’s hand in both of hers, content to sit between them while they ate. No one asked about what had happened at MI6, they already knew thanks to Mycroft, and as soon as they had eaten enough to satisfy John (and Mrs Hudson, if they were going to be honest about things), they retreated to the upstairs bedroom John had occupied in his earliest days at Baker Street. Despite the madness of the past four days, Q and Bond both slept very well that night. Exhaustion had a way of doing that to them.

 

Almost exactly a month later, James Bond found himself mounting the steps of the Old Marylebone Town Hall at 6:30 pm on a warm Wednesday in June. He was on a break between working cases with The Baker Street Detective Agency, marshalling assignments for MI6, and the endless paperwork that accompanied both, and making the most of it. He had planned this carefully, but even still, he was cutting it awfully close. One hand strayed to the pocket of his coat, for the box there. Yes, there it was. Good. Moneypenny would crucify him if he’d somehow lost it between this morning and now. Which was unlikely to have happened since she had kept it most of the day and handed it over to him right as she left Headquarters with a warning not to be late.

“I will come find you, Bond. Don’t you dare be late to your own bloody wedding.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He had promised before sending her off. He hadn’t seen Q since approximately noon when he had disappeared with John Watson to get ready. That had left Bond to work until two, at which time he was dragged away from work by Moneypenny and Alec Trevelyan, who was right behind him at the moment and pushing him to go faster.

“I swear, Alec, if you push me one more time, I will make it look like an accident.” He growled.

“Then move faster!”

“Quiet, you.” He debated taking the stairs or the lift, both were available. Stairs, more reliable. So, with his fussy ex-partner behind him, he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, where they made their way to The Marylebone Room. Before they entered the room, where Q and ten of their dearest friends and closest family were gathered, Alec dragged him to a halt and shoved a bottle of water into his hands. He drank half in a few brisk gulps, took the flask that came next.

“I don’t look like I ran half of London to get here, do I?” He took a swig, grateful that Alec knew his habits and vices and never judged him.

“No. But you do look like you ran three flights of stairs and then some.” Alec grinned, “Which, to be fair, you did.”

“I said be quiet, I meant it.”

“Here.” Alec pressed a damp cloth into his hands next and he put it to use, despite the lack of noticeable difference in his general appearance. Once he felt less likely to keel over, he was a bit out of shape, he straightened his tie, smoothed his hair, and took a deep breath. It was time. They met first with the Registrar, who questioned James about his intentions to get married. He gave satisfactory answers and was dismissed to go meet his husband-to-be. Alec went with him, he said it was to make sure James didn’t get cold feet. Which wasn’t very likely to happen at this rate, ta.

The door of the event-room creaked open as they reached it and Moneypenny poked her head out, looking for him no doubt. As soon as she got eyes on him, she beamed.

“Don’t have to launch a search for you after all! About time you showed!”

“We are _not_ late, thank you, Eve.” He rolled his eyes and ran a finger under his collar.

“Come on, then, you mad thing! Time to get married!” Eve slipped out of the room, holding something in one hand. That, if he wasn’t mistaken, was a blindfold. Part of the ceremony, he and Q weren’t allowed to see each other at all until they were standing together before the Registrar. Alec tied the blindfold on, made sure he _couldn’t_ see, and nudged him towards the door.

His sense of direction was fairly good, and he knew the layout of the room from prior visits, so he really only needed a touch or two to guide him where he needed to go. It also helped that Rosie Watson was in front of him. Well, more like she was beside him, but it was something she had insisted on doing for them. She was their flower-girl, which was not strictly necessary at a civil ceremony like theirs, and she had almost brought Baker Street down in a fit until they finally promised her that she could walk James down the aisle since Q was already going to be waiting at the front of the room. But, she had decided that wasn’t enough and insisted on walking _both_ of them to their places before the Registrar. So, they let her walk Q up first, and James when he arrived. Whatever their Princess wanted, she got, that was just the way things worked at Baker Street.

“Rosie?” He spoke quietly.

“Here, Uncle Jim.” Her hand slipped into his and he squeezed gently. “Are you nervous?”

“A bit. I can’t see.”

“Not supposed to, silly! No peeking!”

“Don’t worry, love. I can’t see anything, I promise.” He touched her hair and let the precocious, precious three-year-old take the lead. Finally, after what seemed like an awfully long walk but wasn’t really that long at all, Rosie stopped, and he stopped behind her. She guided him into position and the hand she had been holding was not released but moved, and she took his other hand instead. He appreciated her willingness to maintain contact with him like this. His fingers brushed against something soft and warm, but not small enough or soft enough to be Rosie. Q? Must be. He took a sharp breath and did a quick venture by hand. They both did.

“The couple may now remove their blindfolds.” The Registrar said, clearly very amused by the proceedings. That was fine, James was very much okay with bringing a bit of happiness to someone else’s day. His days were spent handling the worst of London and the greater world, he appreciated the quiet moments and brief windows of sunlight in what seemed a very dark and gloomy existence.

Familiar, careful fingers untied and removed the blindfold, leaving him to blink the world back into focus. He looked to his left, where the Registrar stood ready, then to his right, where Rosie stood in eager anticipation of the ceremony’s proper beginning. The sight of her in an almost obnoxiously “poofy” dress was endearing. White with a blue sash in a specific shade that matched what James and Q were wearing; in a nod to James’s Scottish heritage, they both wore kilts in a specific tartan pattern. Rosie made a face at him and he chuckled, looking up at Q at last. And forgot how to breathe. Oh, Christ.

“Welcome to all, on this blessed day.” The minister welcomed the wedding party and the guests, signalling the start of the ceremony. “We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes to the words which shall unite James Bond and Benjamin Vernet in marriage. Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, they must speak now or forever hold their peace.” At this point, he stopped and gave any potential naysayers a chance to speak their minds. No one did, of course. James raised an eyebrow. So that was Q’s true name? Benjamin? What was the rest of it, then?

“Friends, we have been invited here today to share with James and Benjamin a very important moment in their lives. In the years they have been together, their love and understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now they have decided to live their lives together as husband and husband.” The Registrar turned to James first. “Are you, James Patrick Bond, free, lawfully, to marry Benjamin Delancey Quintin Vernet?” Oh, that was the whole of it, then. What a name! And no wonder he went by Q!

“I am.”

“And are you, Benjamin Delancey Quintin Vernet, free, lawfully, to marry James Patrick Bond?”

“I am.”

“Do you have a token or symbol which you wish to exchange?”

“We do.”

“You may exchange your rings now, if you wish.” The Registrar just smiled benignly at them. Alec produced a box from his pocket, he must have nicked it from James earlier, and gave it to the John, who handed it to the Registrar.

“Mister Bond, you may go first if you like.” The Registrar said patiently. “Will you give your token to Benjamin and repeat these words: I, James Bond, take thee, Benjamin Vernet, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart.” James took the ring he was giving to Q and took a deep breath.

“I, James Bond, take thee, Benjamin Vernet, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart.” Somehow, he managed to avoid dropping the ring and slid it onto Q’s hand. “I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage, and as a symbol of our love. I promise to care for you, to respect and cherish you, throughout our lives together.”

“Benjamin, will you give your token to James and repeat these words: I, Benjamin Vernet take thee, James Bond, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart.” Q smiled and took the ring _he_ was giving to James.

“I, Benjamin Vernet take thee, James Bond, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart.” Q slid the ring onto James’s hand, shaking almost as badly, but he didn’t drop his ring either. “I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage, and as a symbol of our love. I promise to care for you, to respect and cherish you, throughout our lives together.”

“James and Benjamin, you have both made the declarations prescribed by law and have made a solemn and binding contract with each other in the presence of the witnesses here assembled.” The Registrar took their joined hands and smiled. “It, therefore, gives me the greatest honour and privilege to announce that you are now husbands together.”

Once rings and promises had been exchanged, and maybe a few tears shed, they signed the Marriage Schedule, as did their witnesses. With the Schedule properly signed and sealed, it would be returned to the Register Office in no less than three days so the marriage could be properly registered. James suspected it would be official by Monday. That was good enough for him. The Registrar turned to them after they completed signing the Schedule, a bit misty-eyed.

“James and Benjamin, you have exchanged your promises and given and received tokens in my presence. By these acts, you have become wed. According to the laws of The Commonwealth of Great Britain, I hereby pronounce you are married. You may seal your promise with a kiss.” And by god did they ever. James took great pleasure in that bloody kiss. Sherlock had to brace his hand on Q’s shoulder when James’s kiss almost knocked him off his feet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr and Mr Bond-Vernet! Can I be the first to congratulate you both on your marriage? May I wish you both a very long and happy marriage and all the very best for your future lives together.”

“Thank you.” James wasn’t sure if he said that to the Registrar, or to Q, who looked absolutely lovely in the family tartan they had come up with on a whim. It probably didn’t matter, he was actually grateful to both of them for similar but very different reasons.

They left The Marylebone Room together, followed by their guests and attendants, and outside the main doors of the hall, Moneypenny told them both to stop right where they were and stand still.

“Rosie! Get up there! Stand up with them!”

“Okay!” Rosie trotted back up the stairs to where James and Q had obediently stopped, throwing her arms around James first, then around Q. She couldn’t reach very high, so she hugged them around the knees.

“Alright, you mad things! Smile for the camera!” Moneypenny ordered.

“Bossy thing, isn’t she?” James looked at Q, who snickered.  “Keeps our sorry arses in line.”

Taking Q’s hand in his once Moneypenny had her pictures, James headed down the steps to where the Aston Martin waited. Mycroft’s PA, Anthea (that wasn’t her real name, James knew it but never used it because he knew better), waited by the car, keys in one hand, mobile in the other.

“Hello, Anthea.”

“007.” She raised her eyes to look at him and smiled, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Your keys, Mr Bond-Vernet.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Anthea.” He took the keys and pocketed them, just momentarily.

He looked to the west, where the sun was beginning to set. It was perfect, actually. Quite perfect, in every way that mattered the most.

“What are you thinking?” Q stood by him, leaning against the Aston. James smiled and turned to his husband. Christ, he got to call him that, didn’t he? They were really, truly married now, weren’t they? He wasn’t James Bond, anymore, he was James Bond-Vernet. And that was so important.

“James?” Use of his first name, that was so rare.

“It’s sunset.” He mused softly, looking at the sky again.

“Is that important?” Q’s smile was endearing and relaxed.

“Yes, of course it is.” James looked at his husband properly and leaned in. “It’s our first sunset.”

“Oh.” It was a soft exhale that turned into a startled squeak when he lifted Q off his feet and onto the bonnet of the car. “Oi! 007!”

“Yes, husband?”

“Bit not good!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Prat.” Q sighed into the kiss. “Mine.”

“Only yours.”

“Our first sunset.”

“First of so many to enjoy. Here and anywhere we please.” And it was, it truly was. James Bond had gotten his Happily Ever After, one he had never dared to ask for or dream of. He had work he enjoyed, family he loved, and a husband who knew him better than anyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Link to Procoffeinating's Tumblr art-post:  
> http://procoffeinating.tumblr.com/post/182144409088/made-for-00q-reverse-big-bang-00qreversebang-art


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